Different Positions
by Iliak
Summary: Fills for the Princess Tutu kink meme.  Pairings will vary.  Expect smut, though not always.  Some dub-con.  So far, contains Rue/Ahiru, Fakir/Ahiru, Hermia/Lysander, Mytho/Ahiru
1. RuexAhiru, breathplay WARNING: dubcon

[AN: So, these are all just prompt fills I did for the Princess Tutu kink meme (.). Check it out! There are still lots of requests that haven't been filled, and of course you can request things as well. I'll be posting things up here as I finish them, in the order that I finish them ... and whenever I get around to it. XD;;

This is a fill for the prompt "Ahiru/Rue, breathplay + erotic torture."]

Light-headed. That was it. The word for ... for ... for her head. No, wait, that didn't-

Ahiru choked on a squeal and started to cough, but she had to stop because it made her chest hurt. And because Rue _glared_, and that could only mean _stop_. Ahiru clutched the barre with white-knuckled fingers, her whole body shaking like a wind-battered reed.

"I said _concentrate_." Rue's eyes bore into her, cold for such a warm color. Was it-was it really Rue, or was it-?

No, Rue was definitely Rue, the Rue who was her friend, the Rue who was helping her right now! Ahiru really didn't want to be dropped to the probationary class again, and Rue had agreed to help her practice even though it had seemed like Rue didn't want to be her friend any more, so-so-so-!

But this was ... kind of weird for practice, wasn't it?

Rue's leg was between both of hers, their tights almost rough against each other. Ahiru wondered if you could rip tights just by rubbing them together, if the burning between her legs meant that, meant something was going to break.

She wondered too how she was supposed to move, with Rue pressed up against her so close. The barre dug painfully into Ahiru's back. How could you dance if you couldn't move?

Just like she knew what Ahiru was thinking, Rue's voice came clear and soft into her ear with the answer. "If you can't even concentrate on your own breath, you'll never be able to concentrate on your muscles. You have to know everything, to control it."

Rue ... really knew everything, didn't she? Everything about dancing. Ahiru thought maybe she might know more if her head wasn't so ... so _light_ right now. But she understood, and gave the barest of nods, moving her head as much as she could with Rue's hand pressed against her throat like that.

With a small smile that sent flutters off in Ahiru's stomach and almost made her choke and cough again, Rue lowered her hand. Air stale from entrapment rushed out of Ahiru's lungs all at once, and she felt empty for a moment, empty but for the aching heat still between her legs, before it flooded back in. Her head flopped back against the mirror, and she was about to exhale when Rue shoved her back again. Ahiru's head smacked against the mirror and the barre sent a sharp twinge up her spine, but in front everything was soft and warm. Rue's arms enveloped her, too tight.

"No. _Concentrate_."

So Ahiru did, her whole body taut with breath she absolutely could not allow to leave her.


	2. FakixAhiru, dirty talk

[AN: This is a fill for the request: "Fakir/Ahiru - in which two awkward teenagers suddenly find that dirty talking is a lot more fun than they first anticipated." I started out with every intention of writing smut, but then ... it turned out not to be. XD;;]

"This is stupid."

"H-hey, that's not fair! We haven't even tried yet!"

"There's nothing to try, idiot."

"There is so!" You just don't wanna!"

"Who in their right mind _would_ want to?"

"... W-well, I mean-I mean, it could be fun, or at least interesting or, um-!"

"... Moron."

"'M not! Don't call me that. You're s'posed to say ... _nice_ things."

"... Hn."

"Hey. Hey, um ... Fakir?"

"What now?"

"Just-just lean towards me? Just for a minute?"

"... Fine."

"..."

"_Well?_"

"I-I'm still thinking! Wait a minute!"

"How long am I supposed to-"

"Fakir!"

"_What?_"

"I-you-you're reallyreallyreally handsome!"

"..."

"... N-now it's your turn."

"There are _turns?_"

"Well, yeah ... don't you think that's how it works? It's not really fair if it's only one of us, it's kinda embarrassing, so-"

"You want me to embarrass myself for you."

"Wha-no-I mean, wellmaybeyes-but-no-it's-it's not right if only one of us does all the work! You have to help!"

"Help with _what?_ This is pointless."

"... Making each other feel good isn't _pointless_."

"... Is that it?"

"No! That's _not_ it! Y-you're really mean and you won't even _try_ and I thought you cared about stuff like this but I guess you don't and-and it's not-I really just-mmf!"

"..."

"... Th-that ..."

"That?"

"... Mmn."

"Finish your sentences."

"That was mean too."

"Then I won't do it again."

"That's ... that's meaner."

"..."

"... Mm. You're not doing this right, y'know. You really do have to say stuff."

"You talk enough for both of us."

"Y-you're the one who's always telling me to finish my sentences!"

"You wouldn't listen if I said anything."

"I _would too!_"

"So listen."

"Fine! I wi-!"

"..."

"... You ... you still didn't say anything."

"Didn't I?"

"No! You just-! ... Mm. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

" ... I haven't decided yet. Say it again."


	3. HermiaxLysander

AN: The prompt was Hermia/Lysander, sculpting/pottery. Once again, not very graphic at all.

The corner of Hermia's mouth quirked up, and she bashfully rolled her shoulder up to wipe at the wet clay spatter she could feel on her cheek. She stilled her hands in the clay, not altogether sure what would happen if she let go.

"Sorry," came Lysander's voice from behind her. She thought she could almost _hear_ his blush. "I never really did much pottery ..."

"No! It's my fault! I was-!" She turned where she sat to look at him, and was abruptly reminded of how close he was, right behind her. Her face flushed, and she ended her sentence on a high pitched stammer. "I-I'm not so good with my hands!"

"No! I bet you're great!" Yes, Lysander was definitely blushing now. Hermia felt her face heat up even more in response as she turned what he'd said over in her head. "What I mean is," he amended, his voice getting quieter, the way it did when he admitted that the flowers he just happened to be carrying were really for _her_, "it's the turntable. I'm no good with the foot pedal. I got exci-I-I went too fast."

Hermia was quiet for a moment, and then she offered, "I could try the pedal, and you could shape it instead. I don't really know how to do it anyway."

Lysander was still for a moment, and then he let out a small noise of assent. And suddenly, Hermia was a lot warmer because he moved up even closer, so close that his chest was right up against her back. His arms came around her on either side as he settled his hands carefully over the blob of clay on the potter's wheel. "Go ahead."

Moving her foot forward, brushing against Lysander's leg in the process, Hermia sought out the foot pedal. Finding it, she started to tread, slowly at first, but quickly gaining confidence and increasing the speed. The clay whirred under Lysander's hands, coming to life. "Like this?"

"Yeah," he said, and Hermia shivered at his breath hot on her ear. "Are you all right?"

"Fine! I-I'm great." And she was. They had the whole pottery room to themselves, just her and Lysander, finally. No prying eyes, nothing. Not even love letters to deliver.

Hermia still saw the love hidden on people's backs, when she looked for it. And she did still look, even if nobody had never looked for what might be written on _her_ back.

Lysander knew, now. Hermia smiled and leaned back against him.

That was when she felt it.

Pressed up against her backside was something firm, a lump where there shouldn't have been anything of the sort. "L-Lysander ..."

She felt it when his breath hitched. "Nn?"

Smoke might as well pour from her ears. "Ah, n-n-never mind!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. He was-really, it was unbelievable-for _her_-she hadn't even done anything, definitely not, she was sure she would have remembered trying to tempt him!

Yet she didn't for a moment stop the motion of her foot on the pedal, her calf rubbing against his with every tread.

His arms tensed around her and his breathing grew ragged, and after a few long moments it all just _wasn't stopping_, so Hermia opened her eyes again.

Her gaze landed on Lysander's hands. Through everything, his fingers pressed steadily into the whirling clay, sometimes firmer, sometimes gentle, every so often shifting or curling. Hermia fixed her eyes on the smooth motions, suddenly feeling heat coursing all throughout her, pooling between her legs.

"You-you're really ... skilled with your hands, Ly-" She had to catch her breath. "_Lysander!_"

As if responding to a cue, Lysander's fingers clenched into the clay as he seized up behind her, stiffening against her back. And then, just moments later, he fell slack against her, gasping.

Hermia finally let her foot cease its motion. Face burning and eyes hazed over, she looked over her shoulder.

Lysander was leaning his face into her neck, not looking at her. "I-I'm sorry. I just-"

She had to interrupt. He might keep apologizing.

"Let's make another."


	4. MythoxAhiru

AN: The prompt was Mytho/Ahiru, "Once again, Ahiru's only taking Rue's place..." This story takes place around Akt 5. And someday, I will remember how to write graphic smut.

He is soft and warm, and smoother than anyone real should ever be. From the gentle curve of his jaw to the dip in the middle of his collarbone, and on and on down, Mytho is perfect. Not like a doll; the motions of dolls are clumsy at best, stiff and lacking vitality. Mytho is like the embodiment of what movement is _supposed_ to be, and he is all life. His hands are steady and graceful when they move up from her waist; his breath flutters against her skin like the wings of a bird about to take flight.

Ahiru is _terrible_ at this. She is acutely aware that she is all freckles and scrawny flailing limbs, all blushing and stuttering and not knowing what to do.

But Mytho asked her. He asked _her_, all on his own, took her hand and pulled her into this room before Ahiru could even find an answer. He wrapped his arms around her before she could even quack, and then she didn't have the breath to quack.

And oh she _shouldn't_ be doing this, for lots and lots of reasons. Reasons like Rue is her friend, ducks aren't supposed to mate with things that aren't other ducks, and she just _knows_ she must be even worse at this than dancing and that _really_ says a lot. Reasons like Mytho really loves Rue, even right now.

She knows it's true because with each of his breaths, even as they get hot and ragged and start to feel real, the sweet nothings he gasps into Ahiru's ear are all about loneliness.


End file.
